


The Kinda Boy You Like

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs in a Car, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:44:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn grins. “Wanna relax, bro?” he offers, voice heavy with his sweet, funny accent.</p>
<p>“What, you got a spliff?” Harry laughs, but Zayn’s not digging in his jacket pockets, just shrugging it off and discarding it on the seat, getting down on his knees on the floor of the limo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kinda Boy You Like

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RazzleBrazzle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RazzleBrazzle/gifts).



> For the prompt "Harry/Zayn - Partition (driver roll up the partition please...)". Title from Partition by Beyoncé.

Harry can still see lights going off behind his eyelids when he closes them to take a deep breath. Zayn’s fingers tighten on his. “You okay, mate?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, shortly. He’s not Niall, he’s not the baby, he’s used to it. He just got shoved a little getting in, that’s all. He’s okay. He loves his job.

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn says, in that indulgent voice that means he knows better but won’t bother fighting about it like Louis might. “That was crazy, right?”

“A bit,” Harry concedes, runs a hand through his hair. It’s somewhat gunky with pomade and sweat, and he winces, dropping his hand on the seat.

Zayn bites his lip, looks around at the ridiculous amount of space they have. Usually they go for SUVs, but they’ve got a whole limo to their disposal, and Zayn grins. “Wanna relax, bro?” he offers, voice heavy with his sweet, funny accent.

“What, you got a spliff?” Harry laughs, but Zayn’s not digging in his jacket pockets, just shrugging it off and discarding it on the seat, getting down on his knees on the floor of the limo.

“Not quite,” Zayn shakes his head, reaches for the switch. Instead of rolling down the window, like Harry expected for some reason, it rolls up the black screen separating them from the driver in the front seat. Harry gapes at him a little. Zayn grins, a hand on each of Harry’s knees, and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

There are way too many paparazzi for them to be doing this. Five seconds ago there were people beating on their blacked-out windows, and now Zayn’s peering up at Harry from beneath his lashes, leaning forward and pressing his knees as wide as they’ll go in these tight jeans.

Still, Harry’s only human, and Zayn’s lips are a pretty pink that’s hard to resist. “Yeah,” he nods, and leans down for a grateful kiss, one hand cupping the back of Zayn’s neck.

Zayn bites at his lower lip, tugging it between his teeth and grinning when Harry gasps. “Have to hurry,” he mutters, jerking his chin at the windows. “Think y’can be quick, mate?”

“Up to you, innit?” Harry shrugs and leans back, licks his lips. He feels like he’s in a movie, or in the kind of music video One Direction would _never_ make, watching Zayn undo his fly and pull his cock out over the elastic waistband of his pants, no time for more.

Zayn gives him a quick glance and licks his own lips. He’s careful on the first go, lapping at the head and getting it glossy wet with spit before he takes it in his mouth, purses his lips and looks up at Harry again.

Harry tenses, tightening his grip on the edge of the seat until his fingers go numb and his thighs twitch. He’d been nervous until now, thinking about the headlines and what his mum would say, but the actuality of it overwhelms those worries. Zayn’s mouth is liquid heat around his cock, and he’s rubbing the tip of his tongue just under the head, where it makes Harry want to buck his hips and shout. It makes it nearly twice as good to know that he _can’t_ , and he stuffs the knuckles of his other hand into his mouth, bites down on them.

Zayn watches him from under his long, dark lashes and only blinks away when he slides his mouth further down Harry’s dick, his hand fisted around what he can’t reach, back hunched over the edge of the seat. He’s careful with his teeth, tucked up under his lips, tongue flat against the underside. Harry thinks if someone caught them he might even be okay with it, if only so someone other than him can appreciate how _good_ Zayn is at this. He files that thought away for later; there’s a suite reserved for the five of them on an upper floor tonight, and they can put on a better show than the porn Louis would pick out on demand.

Zayn pulls off with a wet cough, wiping his mouth with his hand (that goes straight back to Harry’s knee, smearing spit across the fabric of his jeans). He doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear he’s impatient, angling Harry’s dick up with his hand and sucking a kiss to the side, pressing at the veins with his tongue and licking up and around the crown like an ice lolly.

He hums something around Harry’s dick that’s probably supposed to be a suggestion, Harry knows they’re cutting it close, but the vibrations just make him want to be louder, and he only hopes he doesn’t break the skin when he bites down on the back of his hand as he comes. Zayn looks disgruntled at the lack of warning, fingers digging into the soft undersides of Harry’s knees like a painful tickle, but he swallows it all, backing up to lick the last drops from around the head and gently working the foreskin with his hand to be sure there won’t be a mess. Harry appreciates that sort of thoughtfulness, and he’s just leaning down to give Zayn a very thankful kiss when the car rolls to a stop.

There’s a brief rap of knuckles against the partition from their driver, and for a second they stare at each other, bent over Harry’s softening cock, and Zayn laughs. Harry panics, tugging him up by the shirt, which pops open, a button going somewhere down his rucked up trousers, and Zayn is still fucking laughing as he tucks Harry back into his pants and zips his fly, scrambles back to his seat right as the driver pulls the door open.

Harry is still gaping at him when they’ve scrambled out and he’s swaying, weak-kneed, on the pavement as the other boys come up and the cars drive off.

Louis claps him on the shoulder and nearly sets him off-balance into a parking barrier. “Someone started on the after party early!”

“Come on,” Alberto says, grabbing Harry’s elbow to guide him around the entrance sign and towards the elevator. “Let’s get you inside.”

Harry looks over his shoulder to where Louis and Zayn are tagging along, arms strung about each other’s necks and whispering. Zayn looks smug when he catches Harry’s eye and sticks out his tongue.

They’re definitely going to have an audience tonight.  

 


End file.
